I Am Half-Sick Of Shadows
by Luro4
Summary: A Christmas party at Edith's flat goes horribly wrong. Worst of all, they are snowed in with a twisted murderer. But amongst Edith's guests is one consulting detective...
1. Chapter 1

Edith padded barefoot across the carpet of her flat, her slinky green dress glittering. Polished nails, but long ginger locks still hung down her back.

Outside the snow fell thick and fast to the dry grey ground. Edith glanced out the window and frowned, perfectly plucked eyebrows drawing together.

There hadn't been rain for a few days. The ground was dry, and the snow settled onto it calmly, shaking its coat and lying down.

Edith hated blizzards, and she hated being snowed in. It looked like this snow would settle, and she had guests in an hour.

She brushed her hair and turned to her unwilling flatmate.

'Hair up or down?'

Lavinia sighed. 'Why are you asking me? I just live here.' Putting two redheads together had not been a good idea. It was Edith's flat, she had bought it, painted it, furnished it. Lavinia had needed a place to stay while she was in New York, and Edith's parents had insisted she share. To be fair, Lavinia had objected almost as much as Edith.

'I only want a second opinion. Well?' Edith looked nervously out of the window at the thick white curtain falling. After much argument, Lavinia threw down her book and stormed off to her room, yelling, 'Oh, sort it out yourself Edith! I'm not your personal fashion expert!'

Edith shook her head, exasperated. Standing in front of the mirror, she carefully pinned her hair in a stylish twist, and added her climbing earrings. A touch of makeup and high heels completed the effect, and Edith twirled experimentally in the mirror.

The doorbell went suddenly, and it sounded like someone was leaning their whole weight on it.

'I'll get it!' Lavinia yelled. She must have been expecting one of her parcels, Edith wondered.

Yet when Edith came to see who it was, there was a frosty silence not entirely due to the blizzard conditions outside. Lavinia stood with her arms crossed barring the way in. Mary and Matthew exchanged confused glances. Matthew looked slightly guilty.

'Hello Matthew, Mary.' Edith stepped past Lavinia and kissed Matthew on the cheek. She nodded to Mary, the most they ever did.

'Where's Sybil?' Edith asked, just as a figure clad in Arctic weather protection burst onto the scene, breathing excitement and cheerfulness. Sybil exchanged a whirlwind of hugs and kisses then barged through the door.

'Why are you all just standing there? It's freezing!' She pushed everyone inside and closed the door. Divesting herself of her parka, two scarves, a bobble-hat, and two jumpers and leaving them spread out across the hallway, Sybil curiously explored the flat. A younger sister's privilege, she announced, and everyone loved her too much to object. Even Mary's cold, aloof façade shimmered on seeing her youngest sibling, rosy-cheeked and happy, laughing and sliding down the banisters like she was 8 again.

'Oh, this is nice!' Sybil said as she came into the living area. 'I really like the colour scheme, Edie!'

Mary sniffed, slid out of her expensive fur coat and gracefully relaxed onto one of the sofas. Matthew sat down next to her, and they conversed quietly in low tones like there was no one else in the room.

Lavinia huffed and stalked into the kitchen, where the sound of oven door clashing and woks crashing announced her anger.

Sybil flung herself onto the other sofa, ripped jeans and bright Christmas jumper contrasting with Mary's sleeveless dark red dress subtly complemented with black jewellery. Yet again, Edith felt second best, even in her snake-ish green floor length gown with a trail and gold accessories.

'So, Matthew, how is your latest case going?' Sybil interrupted the hushed conversation with a reproving glance at Mary.

Matthew turned to her and smiled fondly. 'I modestly think it's going to be a walkover."

Sybil leant forward. 'For the client? What is the charge?'

Matthew sighed. 'The charge is attempted murder and drug-smuggling. I think I can prove it pretty easily.'

Edith offered round drinks. She sipped her champagne and perched on the arm of Sybil's sofa. 'How can you prove it?' She asked, casting another anxious glance out the window.

Matthew smiled smugly. 'I can prove it-'

The doorbell went again, and Edith smiled secretly. Mary watched her, interested as to who it could be that made Edith look so happy.

Lavinia slammed the kitchen door, a signal to Edith that this time she was _not_ going to answer it. Edith slipped off the sofa and smiled as she walked eagerly to the door.

Mary, Matthew and Sybil glanced at each other.

Mary groaned as she realised. 'Don't tell me she's finally found a man!'

Sybil cheered up immediately, but still gave Mary a disapproving look.

Out in the hall they heard Edith's voice.

'Hello Sherlock.'


	2. Chapter 2 Truths

Sherlock walked into the living room and was confronted by three gobsmacked faces. Every one of them added a shell-shocked, astonished look to the usual open-mouths. Edith glared at them and Sybil forced her jaw up from the floor.

'Hello, I'm Sybil, and these two are Mary and Matthew. How are you?' Sybil said brightly.

Mary shot a puzzled glance at Edith, who just smiled.

'Sherlock Holmes. Edith, please tell me you have nicotine patches.' Sherlock turned to her, obviously expecting to have to resort to them to stave off boredom.

Edith motioned with her eyes at him to turn to Sybil. He frowned.

'Oh, not right?'

Edith shook her head. 'It's introductions, Sherlock.'

'Ohhh.' He turned. 'Delighted to meet you all, sure you're all well, hopefully one of you will die soon, anyway I have to go here-' He disappeared into the hall.

Edith smiled at the still-shocked group. 'So, that was Sherlock.'

Sybil held up her hand like a schoolkid. 'Are you actually dating him?'

Mary snorted. 'Of course not!'

Edith shot her a glare, and a strange, considering look dashed across her face. 'Well, not yet.' She said, annoyed.

Sherlock appeared again in the doorway. 'Ah, Edith. Do you have your gun on you?'

Mary looked horrified.

Edith sighed. 'Seriously, Sherlock, in this dress?' She gestured to the clingy green gown. He shrugged.

'Might have been possible. But the gun.'

Edith rolled her eyes and poured champagne into glasses. 'Later, Sherlock. We're not investigating now.' She handed them all a drink and raised her glass. Mary got up languidly and clinked her glass against Edith's, who seemed taken aback by the action.

'To crime.' Mary said in her aristocratic voice. Edith shrugged at the weird toast, surprised her sister was bothering tonight.

But then Mary turned to Sherlock and flashed him her most dazzling smile. 'Mr Holmes, was it?'

Sherlock winked at Edith as he saw the way Mary was eyeing him up. 'Yes, Lady Mary.'

Her eyebrows rose at the correct use of her title. Hardly anybody bothered with it theses days; both Sybil and Edith never used theirs. 'I don't think we've ever met. What do you do, Mr Holmes?'

Edith bit back a grin. Definitely the wrong question to ask.

'What do _you_ do, Lady Mary Crawley, eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham, engaged to Matthew Crawley, lawyer and heir to the estate Downton Abbey and the Earldom of Grantham?' Sherlock rattled off with a grin.

Mary's eyebrows shot up involuntarily, but she soon regained her poise. 'Goodness! You're well informed.' Her old-fashioned-BBC presenter voice seemed out of place in the modern surroundings. 'I'm actually a lawyer too.' She said, with an affected giggle that rankled with Edith.

'I'm a consulting detective, the only one in fact, I invented the job. When the police are baffled, which is always, they come to me.' Sherlock glanced at his flute of champagne and then looked at Edith. 'Do you still have the precisely measured glass I left here sometime or the other when I was drunk?'

She rolled her eyes. 'You mean the huge one that you were holding when you passed out on my doorstep?' She grinned. 'It's somewhere around, but I don't want you getting drunk this time. You sober is bad enough.'

Mary stepped in front of him again, blocking Edith off. 'A consulting detective, my, my! Have you been involving Edith in crime? Do tell me about your cases.' It was not a question, she was demanding his full attention for the rest of the evening.

Edith felt the familiar curl of jealousy and seethed silently. Mary was monopolising Sherlock just because she thought he was interested in Edith. Mary was probably planning to cheat on Matthew with Sherlock just because he was eye-candy and he liked Edith, then dump him and go back to the man she actually loved, in her cold way.

'No.'

But of course, what Mary didn't know was that Sherlock was Sherlock, the genius who didn't bother to converse with lesser mortals.

Edith smirked triumphantly at her sister, who stared in shock and fury back at her.

And then Lady Mary Crawley decided to make a fool of herself.

'I ran into Michael Gregson yesterday.' She said to Edith, smiling sweetly.

Edith stepped back, flinging out an arm involuntarily and knocking over a vase whilst spilling her drink down her dress.

Mary smiled. Success! She pressed on gleefully. 'Oh yes. He told me he'd remarried to someone or other, Ethel Parks was it? Anyway, he said he'd thoroughly enjoyed raping you and asked if you were free next weekend.' Edith's white face spurred Mary on. 'He mentioned that he had a nice little flat he can set you up in.'

Matthew's eyes were wide. 'Mary, no!'

Sybil clenched her teeth. 'You bitch.' She said in a low voice and slapped her sister. 'You utter bitch.'

Mary stared at her, a red mark on her cheek and a searing anger in her eyes. 'How dare you!' Her aristocratic voice overemphasised the words.

Sybil leant forward till she was inches from Mary's face. 'Do you have one single bone in your body that is not selfish, arrogant and spiteful? You know Edith was raped by this man three months ago, yet you cruelly taunt her just because one man has the sense not to fall for you!' She hissed at Mary, her brown eyes shooting daggers.

Matthew's shocked face turned to Mary. 'Is all that true, Mary? Did you meet Michael- that man?'

A look passed over Sherlock's face, a strange, considering, slightly outraged mingled with understanding. 'Of course it's true. As is the _truth_ -' He looked apologetically at Edith, 'That you are pregnant.'


	3. Chapter 3 Death

Edith went white. She stepped back, the glass falling from her hand and smashing on the floor. 'I thought…no one knew…' She whispered faintly. Her eyes were fixed on Sherlock, a mixture of love and hate in her gaze.

Sherlock shook his head. 'I saw the pregnancy tests on your bathroom sink but I thought they were your flatmate's. Then they said you were raped three months ago…. which would explain the alarming decrease in nights out this month and the soda water in your glass.' He shifted uncomfortably.

'So you didn't abort it?' Mary's voice was brittle. She stared at Edith's midsection and flinched.

Sybil rounded on her. 'Stop it! You're making it worse.' She put down her glass and took Edith's hand. 'Why didn't you tell us? I would've helped.'

Edith closed her eyes. _Maybe because you all have never given me any reason to trust you. Maybe because I was afraid of Mary's scorn, Dad's anger, Mum's disappointment, the shame. Maybe I just wanted to figure it all out myself, maybe my family's so-called 'support' would be worse than none at all._ 'I didn't think any of you would care…' She said wearily.

'Of course we care!' Sybil said.

Mary snorted. 'I think you overestimate my sisterly affection. This, this is so like Edith, too plain to get a man, too stupid to stop herself from being raped. Really, Sybil, I think we should just leave her alone.'

Edith sighed. 'See? This is what I knew would happen.' She sat down heavily on the sofa. 'Mary despises me, well, more than she did. You, Sybil, probably think I'm a fool for not being on birth-control, and Sherlock…. you caused all of this in the first place! Why did you have to blurt it out to _everyone_ , I was doing perfectly fine on my own!' She blinked back the angry tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

Matthew winced. 'I... I don't really think I need to be here…' He mumbled, embarrassed. No one noticed as he sidled out of the room.

Mary's lips were set in a tight line. 'What a betrayal! You were going to keep it secret, from your long-suffering family! First there was the Patrick fiasco, then Anthony Strallan dumped you spectacularly, not that you can blame him, then that Brazilian waiter at the Ritz, then Michael Gregson, now this!' She spat out, face contorting in hate. 'Pathetic!'

Sherlock glared at her. 'Shut it. It's annoying and I'm trying to think.'

Edith laughed tiredly, the hilarity of the situation increased by her weary, heart-broken mind. 'Oh, please, Sherlock, there isn't a way out of this mess is there? Nobody can do anything, and if they did it would be illegal.'

Sherlock shook his head and muttered something under his breath. 'No, not that, too bloody…..Where does he live?'

Mary stared at him icily. 'Who?' She inquired coolly.

'The man, whatshisname, Michael Gravesman?' He continued to mumble. 'Ah, Gregson!'

And then the scream from upstairs.

Lavinia burst in, her face white with shock and her hands….dripping blood.

'Someone's dead up there!' She whispered, blood spattered all over her and then a bubbling, maniac laugh spilled from her throat.


	4. Blood

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

Blood on the walls, blood spattering the carpet, blood pooling beneath the body, blood dripping slowly and rhythmically to the floor.

A macabre scene.

A fatal, cruel, insane, mechanical thing of torture.

Ropes hung from the ceiling, a chain attached to the open window and wrapped round the victim's neck. A pulley system on the other side of the room was creaking ominously, a rope spilling out of it and lashed tightly to the legs.

The body…. torn apart.

An arm flung against the wall, the head battered and unrecognisable, a couple of fingers were lying on the white carpet.

Somewhere outside a bell tolled.

Edith opened the door slowly.

Mary's white face stared round her shoulder, Sybil's shocked eyes followed the cruel mechanism that had wrenched muscle, bone, tissue apart in such an agonisingly mad way.

'Kemal?'

Mary's small voice broke the silence. There was such a quality of terror in it that Edith shuddered and clutched her stomach.

'Kemal Pamuk?'

Sherlock stepped through, for once he had the humanity to not make a remark. 'No. It's Thomas Barrow.'

And then Edith fainted.

At least, she seemed to faint, the room spun, and she didn't hear anything for what felt like hours, though it was only a few seconds.

 _Thomas…_

 _Her friend._

 _Was dead._


End file.
